


Little Red Riding Hood

by ireneadlers



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Peggy Carter, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Steve Rogers - Freeform, angie is not who she claims to be, post 1x03
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:18:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3249410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ireneadlers/pseuds/ireneadlers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>alternatively: the one where I desperately try to award the interesting character of Jack Thompson with some character development</p>
<p>Now that the SSR is one agent short, Peggy finally gets to work actual cases. However, what she finds in those files makes Howard seem guilty. Now she is faced with a difficult decision between loyalty and advancing her career, and what she uncovers during the mission might change her view on most of the people she knows...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flareonfury](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flareonfury/gifts).



> There are a few things to be said about this fic:
> 
> Firstly, I don't write fiction, like, ever.   
> Secondly, this is not beta-read and English is not my first language. I am sincerely sorry for any historical or grammatical mistakes, and should you find any, I will rush to the rescue of the poor sentence immediately.  
> Thirdly, I know most of you probably ship Cartinelli and I do, too. But I find Jack Thompson too interesting a character to simply be an asshole. I think there is more to him and if the writers don't reveal any depht about him I will take matters into my own hands.  
> And lastly, I hope you enjoy this piece. I am infamous for abandoning ideas so I sincerely apologize in advance should I choose not to finish this. I get busy sometimes and I have about the attention span of a fly.
> 
> I dedicate this to flareonfury because she braved the shallow waters of Carterson fanfiction for me.

“You’re trying to hide something.”

The words had been haunting her ever since the moment he’d spoken them. Despite the fact that she had been replaying them in her mind for the last five hours, constantly spinning them around, hoping to decipher some underlying message of sorts, none had revealed itself yet.

Obviously, she was an intelligent woman – and thus, she was well aware that Jack Thompson was many things, but stupid was not one of them.

Chauvinist, arrogant, ambitious – most definitely. His intelligence, though, was apparent. It was not mere coincidence that he solved the most cases compared to his colleagues, although, as Peggy was sure, he didn’t have any real competition except for Sousa, who wasn’t even given many cases to begin with.

Peggy was convinced he was onto her. She had yet to figure out how much exactly he knew, though. And although her calm exterior betrayed none of it, she was anxious to act – waiting had always made her rather restless.

She was still at the station, trying to focus on her work, and if she had been honest to herself, she would have admitted that she was failing miserably. Indeed, she was supposed to be typing up a report, work normally reserved for _real_ agents – but now that they were short-staffed, they couldn’t afford to treat Peggy like a secretary anymore and gave her some of the cases to work on. They were, however, the cases nobody else liked to take – either because they were too simple or because they were a pain in the arse, this particular one being an outstanding example of the latter.

Peggy looked up and glanced at Jack Thompson’s desk for what felt like the millionth time. It was nearly seven pm, usually almost time for the night shift to take over, but due to the tragedy that had taken place two days ago, everyone’s shifts were extended by two hours in order to cover for the missing agent. And as fate would have it, tonight Peggy was lucky enough to work the night shift, too, with her all-time-favourite agent.

Frankly, she was looking forward to it. She hated loose ends, and perhaps this night would be the perfect opportunity to prove that she was not, in fact, hiding anything. Making him believe that he’d erred would prove difficult enough, since he had spoken with conviction, clarifying with each word that he would be relentless and thorough in his investigating.

Jack Thompson, was, after all, an excellent agent.

Peggy checked her watch, only to notice that time was passing with the velocity of a snail. She felt that if it had gone by any slower the hands of her wristwatch would have gone backwards. Sighing, she vowed to truly concentrate on the pieces of paper sprawled out in front of her and entered that zone where she didn’t notice anything or anyone. Her parents used to joke that tearing her from a captivating book would have taken a nuclear war, and diving into her work had a similar effect on her mind.

Perhaps that was the reason she didn’t hear him. Or it was because of some deeper Freudian issue. Either way, Jack Thompson himself was standing in front of her desk, snapping his fingers in her face. She would have sworn to God himself, if he hadn’t stopped eventually she might have considered teaching him the alphabet – and manners – with methods entirely unapproved of, such as banging his head against a metal filing cabinet repeatedly.

“Case proving to be difficult, huh?” he asked her, and something about his tone made her stop and finally meet his eyes. There was only the faint hint of something almost akin to admiration that caused her to narrow her eyes ever so slightly.

“Was there anything in particular you needed?”

Her tone was polite – professional – and she was determined to let neither her annoyance nor her curiosity show. As far as her demeanour was concerned, she appeared about as approachable as a tank.

Thompson had the audacity to grin, to just stupidly _grin_ at her.

“Yes, actually. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but it’s almost nine o’clock and I’m starving so I was wondering whether you wanted something to eat?”

Despite the fact that he seemed sincere enough, Peggy was not one to be fooled easily.

“Are you asking me out to dinner or are you offering to get some burgers?”

“To be honest, I was hoping you’d cook someth-“, he attempted to clarify, but was interrupted by Peggy.

“DO YOU THINK I AM HERE FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT?”

In hindsight, maybe playing along would have been the better option as opposed to yelling, especially since he was already wary of her.

He seemed startled enough, though, and backed half a step away from her desk.

 “Well, to be frank-“

 “That was a rhetorical question, Agent Thompson. Are you familiar with the concept? It’s asking a question you do not expect an answer to because the answer is common knowledge. Either way, I am currently doing the talking, and it’s your turn to listen. Do you not believe me to be capable of doing simple investigative work? Are you so caught up in your own brilliance”-she emphasized her opinion of his supposed brilliance by drawing imaginary quotation marks in the air-“that you are not even able to recognize perfectly fine work, solely because it was done by a – gasp – woman? Is this a thought so foreign to you that you can’t fathom it?”

Peggy was delighted to witness him so astounded. His eyes were a tad wider than usually, his mouth was slightly open and he seemed to be at a loss for words. _Good_ , thought Peggy.

“Oh, and one more thing, _Agent_ Thompson,” she added. “The only thing I am trying to hide is that I actually don’t think any of you – with exception of Daniel Sousa – are exceptionally competent. Have a good rest of the night.”

With that, she turned back to her work, trying her hardest not to give in and glance up for one last satisfying look at the glare that was surely currently being sent her way. She only looked up fifteen minutes later, when she’d heard him shuffle away from the desk quite a while ago.

Perhaps rash reactions weren’t the most sensible way to navigate herself out of this mess, they could get her fired, actually, but as per usual, her anger had gotten the better of her. Either way, the deed was done and it could not be taken back, and instead of dwelling on it any longer, she scanned the sheet in front of her for any clues that might help her with this obnoxious case. Just like so often, the devil was in the detail with this one: The SSR had been looking into a particularly notorious fence for chemical weapons, and although they knew in excruciating detail how his business worked, there was simply no evidence, nor anybody willing to testify. Looking at it from the law’s perspective, the man was as clean as freshly washed bed sheets.

Until now, anyway, as it seemed. Peggy blinked violently a couple of times, but the letters still spelled the same name: Irwin Donne. The discovery shook her to her bones.

_Could Howard have lied to me? Was he himself responsible for his weapons appearing in Europe?_

Irwin Donne was a middleman Howard had been using in his semi-legal activities for a while; she had not met him personally but she knew that he’d probably made acquaintance with the police before, given his track history.

She considered her options: Using this lead would mean betraying Howard’s trust and not being able to count on her rich friend’s help – or Jarvis’s for that matter – anymore. On the other hand, it might convince the squad that she was indeed capable of doing detective’s work and land her some missions. If she didn’t use it, it would likely result in no one ever opening the file again, but should someone, she would get fired before she could even finish the sentence “Does that mean I am fired?”.

It was highly probable that arresting Irwin Donne would still not be sufficient to prove anything as far as Howard’s guilt – or innocence – went, however it would certainly ensure the SSR to close in on him significantly, which would not pose a problem as long as Howard chose to stay in Europe. Alas, she had no way of reassuring herself he would.

Torn between loyalty and ambition, she did the only thing a sensible woman in her position would ever do and started devouring a bar of chocolate she kept for emergencies. When she was finished, she decided to postpone until Jack returned, for enlightenment had not yet come to her and she felt perhaps intuition would be a better judge in the matter.

It took another seventeen minutes and forty-eight seconds until a loud banging of doors announced his return to the station, but subconsciously Peggy had wanted to use the lead since the very second she’d discovered it. As her impatience would suggest, she didn’t waste any time being cross and rather approached Thompson the minute he started unbuttoning his coat.

“Don’t bother”, she said matter-of-factly, ignoring that he smelled like burgers, and obnoxiously so.

“Excuse me?” he asked, as if he could not believe her audacity.

“You heard me. I found a lead on the fence that I believe links him to Howard Stark. If I am right, we can make an arrest in a few days, maximum.”

He let out a disbelieving chuckle. “And what exactly, pray tell, did you find in those files that have been studied time and time again by the best agents in this department?”

She practically shoved the sheet of paper in his face.

“It’s not a What, it’s a Who. Irwin Donne.”

“Did you just say Irwin Donne?” he inquired, properly looking at the piece of paper for the first time.

“Irwin Donne, 50, well-known amongst criminals in the city. Worked in the arms industry during World War One and Two, but has since devoted his life to enabling illegal arms dealing”, she recited.

Suddenly, his right hand started redoing the three buttons he’d unbuttoned before seemingly of its own accord while he was simultaneously reading the file, a crease forming on his forehead.

“Marge, I hate to say it, but you could be onto something here. We need to check this out – or, well, I do”, he conceded. “I can’t take you with me. It’s way too dangerous, and you probably don’t even know how to fight or shoot a gun.”

“It seems your choice is going alone or taking a _woman_. I don’t know about you, but I think that a strategically placed notebook is better assurance than getting shot right in the chest, don’t you?”

With a pointed look at her feet, he muttered, “Fine. But you might want to change shoes.”

Ignoring his last comment, Peggy started walking towards the door. “Let’s go, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I couldn't wait anymore. There is this thing I have about pre-written stuff - I can never wait to post it. Better for you guys anyway.
> 
> I need to upload my senior thesis for my Matura but the website is not working - naturally - so I'm trying to wait until it will. 
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, I present to you: Chapter two.

“Anyway, do you have even the slightest clue as to his whereabouts?” asked Jack with doubt in his voice. He knew that her discovery proved that she was at least somewhat competent, but something about her still didn’t sit right with him. In his personal opinion, a woman in this male-dominated business was either borderline suicidal or barren – or both. However, he couldn’t help a certain amount of admiration sneaking in with all his scepticism. She had, after all, managed to find a clue nobody else had ever noticed – although he was fairly certain that had he been the one to read the file they would have arrested the suspect weeks ago.

“As a matter of fact, Agent Thompson, I was hoping for your input”, she prompted, looking at him expectantly.

Chuckling condescendingly, he followed her all the way to his car without saying another word. He motioned to open her door, but found that Peggy already sat in the passenger seat, her seatbelt fastened, hands clasped in her lap. Repressing a sigh, he got in the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The drive was quiet, yet a certain tension remained; it was like Jack could sense Peggy’s burning curiosity about their destination, but neither of them was willing to relent, least of all her. He was driving carefully, yet consistently slightly faster than the speed limit allowed.

He’d known the second Irwin Donne’s name was mentioned that the chances of finding him at the “Drunken Sailor”, a run-down bar near the port, were close to a hundred percent, as he was not the kind of man that learned from previous mistakes. He’d been arrested there at least twice, however, he wouldn’t have changed his habits, just like he wouldn’t think to stay out of illegal activities until the dust from his last big heist had settled. His actions tended to make finding him operations that you could give interns instead of having them cook coffee – and Margaret Carter was the next best thing to an intern the SSR had to offer.

Jack’s lips slightly tugged upwards as he noticed how similar Peggy and he were regarding their stubbornness. The only visible sign of uneasiness at being left in the dark was her picking at her cuticles, and it took paying close attention to even notice that. Granted, he would have preferred to leave her at the office altogether, as nobody could predict the outcome of such operations. Krzemenski‘sdeath was a prime example of a seemingly simple task escalating terribly, ending in ultimate tragedy. Exactly for that reason, however, he couldn’t afford to leave her behind, despite his personal opinion about women and crime scenes. Peggy had previously proven that she could think quickly should it come down to it, and while he seriously doubted he’d need her help, he had to accept that taking her with him was better than going alone.

Besides, maybe this would put her off her espionage aspirations and steer her towards a career more suitable for a lady.

As they rounded the corner to the bar, realization dawned on her face, and her mouth seemed to shape an “O” for a fraction of a second before she regained composure. He parked his car right in front of the bar, getting annoyed at not managing a flawless parallel park at the first try, and this time got out of the car without rounding it to open Peggy’s door. She was by his side shortly after, and, smoothing down her skirt, followed him to the door of the bar.

Jack stopped abruptly before it, causing her to crash against him because of the unexpected halt. She sent a glare his way that said something along the lines of _excuse you_.

“Marge, I know you found this lead, but if it comes to a fight, stay out of it”, he ordered. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance or disbelief, but she nodded curtly and strode past him into the bar, nearly letting the door slam into his face because she failed to hold it open.

By the time he’d scanned half the room, she was already marching towards a balding man in a ratty suit who was sitting on a stool at the bar, an untouched beer standing in front of him.

“Irwin Donne?” inquired Peggy. The man looked up, his eyes blinking nervously.

“Yes?”

“You are under arrest for arms trafficking”, she stated calmly yet firmly, her posture oozing authority. Donne’s expression was slightly panicky, but then he got up from his stool, seemingly compliant. Jack, who had dealt with his fair share of criminals, sensed that he was going to make a run for it. His body tensed, ready to bolt after him should it be necessary.

Jack was right, for Donne did indeed try to flee, and he managed to grab his arm. Somehow, Donne wiggled out of his grasp and ran out the door of the bar.

“Son of a bitch”, Jack cursed. Peggy did not waste any time and immediately pursued the criminal down the street, her pumps loudly clacking against the pavement as she sprinted after him, Jack following closely after.

“I told you to stay out of it! Leave him to me!” he yelled.

He caught up to her quickly due to his hours and hours of training at the gym, and she managed to trip Donne, who wasn’t paying attention to the street but rather frantically looking at his pursuers, by throwing her handbag right in front of his feet. He scrambled back to his feet immediately, but Jack had already caught one of his wrists. It wasn’t enough to truly detain him, and when he saw an opening, his opponent used his right hand to throw a hard punch at Jack’s jaw, freeing his hand in process as his grip loosened. In the blink of an eye, he found himself tackled on the sidewalk, Irwin Donne’s hands wrapped around his neck, strangling him. He unsuccessfully tried to knee or punch him a couple of times, but wasn’t exactly aided in his efforts by the fact that he was rapidly running out of air, causing his vision to go black.

Next thing he knew, there was a loud thump, and the man’s weight was lifted off his chest. He attempted to breathe again and felt relief as the oxygen flooded his lungs. He looked up to discover no one other than Peggy Carter standing above the cuffed, motionless figure of Irwin Donne. She was re-tucking her blouse that had apparently come loose in the struggle. When she was done, she offered him her hand and he let her pull him back to a standing position, partly stunned into silence, partly not wanting to test his voice yet because he was sure it would hurt.

His gratefulness must have shown on his face, though, because Carter just nodded slightly and squatted down to – quite violently – slap Irwin Donne into conscience. He groaned once at her manhandling him, a second time when he realized he was restrained, and a third when Carter mercilessly pulled him up and started leading him towards the car. Jack followed mechanically, still processing his near-death experience. In his line of work, it was more than common to come into contact with death, and it also painfully reminded him of the war. He tried not to think about it too much, not wanting to break down in front of a woman.

Peggy Carter shoved Donne into the back seat and then proceeded to get into the driver’s seat; Jack thought it was best not to argue. The drive back was just as quiet, although Peggy did a way better job at parallel parking the car back at the SSR headquarters, as he was shocked to discover. They brought Donne into the SSR’s holding cell so he could be questioned the next day, since neither of them had any strength left to hold an interrogation. It was close to the end of their shift, and they spent the rest of it labouring away at reports about tonight’s arrest. When the next shift arrived, both of them put on their coats quietly. Jack lingered a little even though he was finished getting dressed. Peggy glanced at him questioningly, but didn’t say anything.

“Um, Carter…” he started. “I just wanted to thank you. For what did back there.”

He couldn’t bring himself to admit that he’d be dead if it hadn’t been for her.

“It wasn’t that hard of a job. Besides, do you honestly think I’d let my personal feelings interfere with my job?”

“Oh, well, no, but… Anyway, I was wondering if I could maybe invite you out to burgers after all as a, you know, thank you…” he offered a little awkwardly. His respect for her had risen by about a hundred degrees during the last few hours, and he was starting to become genuinely interested in her, and had very nearly accepted her presence at the SSR. She had proven that she could be an asset, too, instead of a burden, and at this point he had been reinforced in his disbelief at her story about losing the theft report during Edwin Jarvis’s interrogation. There must have been more to it as she was way too intelligent to make such an elementary mistake, and he was more determined to get to the bottom of it than ever.

“Thank you, Agent Thompson, but I am positively shattered. It’s been a long night and the only thing you could possibly offer to tempt me would be a bed” she sighed, and then realization at the implications of her statement made her blush slightly, although he had to admire her for not babbling on and making it worse in process. Laughing inwardly, he just raised his eyebrows.

“Good night, then, Carter. Nice work today.”

With those words, he left the station, musing that perhaps with Peggy Carter, compliments and respect would get him further than threats at her job and snide commentary. Even if she was actively hindering police investigation regarding Howard Stark – which was unlikely, especially since she found and used the lead on him – she would solve other cases not involving him in the meantime, and they might make an exceptional team together.

_There are two possible outcomes to our work relationship_ , he thought. _Either we’ll try to obliterate the other because we are both so aggressively competitive, or we’ll be the best damn team of detectives the SSR has ever seen._

The prospect of the latter challenged everything he’d thought to be true until this point; a few hours ago, he would have agreed with anybody claiming women to be weak and inferior – now, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Peggy Carter was without doubt far from ordinary, but she could be just as deadly as him, and all that wearing pumps. Frankly, Jack Thompson wasn’t too keen on ever meeting her in a dark alleyway.

* * *

 

At the same time somewhere across town, Peggy Carter was getting ready for bed. The Griffith was eerily silent, as all the other girls were either asleep or being considerate towards the ones that weren’t, and she could practically hear herself think. If she was to be honest, she didn’t like it and never had. She craved adrenaline and lived for fight or flight. Just like she was wary of waiting, she disliked silence – both transported a sense of inactivity that Peggy couldn’t stand.

Stripping down until she was nude, and consequently putting on her pyjamas, she pondered the night’s events. She’d gotten quite angry at Thompson when he’d told her to stay out of it, and chose to ignore him – thankfully, otherwise she would have had to call _his_ girlfriend. Her tired mind briefly wondered whether he had one and whether she could actually stand him, but she quickly returned to a more important topic.

She realized that she’d gained some very valuable knowledge that night: First, Jack Thompson could not parallel park to save his life. Second, he was a decent man and could be professional, should the circumstances require it, regardless of his personal sentiment towards her. And third, he now owed her a life debt – something that she was sure not to ever let him forget.

Her eyes already fluttering shut, she thought that she needed to get to the bottom of Howard’s supposed involvement in illegal weapons dealing.

_I am missing something_ , she thought, and then she was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Please do leave reviews and kudos if you liked it - getting those emails makes me smile like an idiot and I honestly love reading feedback. You guys are rock stars and I cannot emphasize enough how much I cherish every single review, kudo, hell, even hit - because that means that somebody thought my story was worth even clicking on.
> 
> I hope I can get around to writing the next chapter within the week. I do have a rough outline on how I want this to go but I'm somewhat of a fanfiction-rookie so I can't really plan out chapters.
> 
> Also, I am trying to write Jack as he is portrayed in the show now but if anything seems off that probably stems from ep 3 when we didn't know him that well yet. Please forgive me for minor OOC-ness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was almost completely written yesterday and I haven't really checked it specifically for language etc, so if you notice anything that's a little awkward, please forgive me.

Peggy woke up at nine a.m. the next morning, thanking God that she didn’t have to be in early. As she put on her clothes, her eyes wandered to Steve’s picture on her nightstand, and she sighed deeply. Some days she was so occupied she wouldn’t miss him at all, and others the longing was an ache buried deep within her chest, making it impossible for her to take a single breath without thinking about him.

She mentally prepared herself for today to be one of the latter. She knew that grieving was normal, that it was a process everyone had to go through in order to get over someone – but knowledge of the seven stages of grief didn’t automatically make it any easier to cope with losing what was essentially the love of her life. For a while, she’d hated death with a fiery passion, but then came the realization that channelling her anger into something physical would lead to actual satisfaction.

For all her passion and abundant emotions, Peggy tended to reason with herself when she felt her feelings reigning her decisions. After multiple experiences had proven to her that giving up control over her own body – the only thing one could ever truly be the master of – seemed to have been the worst possible option, she had taken to bottling them up, storing them safely until a convenient time, and then using them to spur her on in battle or during a particularly tough time. However, in the case of Steve, she felt a physical hole in her chest that was only slowly being repaired through time and the realization that friends could help mend broken hearts.

Wondering what to do with her free morning as she got dressed mechanically, she thought of Angie. Sweet, kind Angie. She had been such a blessing lately without even realizing it herself. Aside from the obvious, like her helping her to get a place to stay at the Griffith, the lively waitress helped her to numb her emotions, and got her to forget the tragedies of the war for at least a couple of hours. As a result of their blooming friendship, the diner had become somewhat of a sanctuary to Peggy, although that could only be attributed to Angie’s working there rather than any other factor.  

_Their apple pie is really good, though_ , thought Peggy with a smile.

The question what to do with her morning was answered right away when her stomach growled loudly, and she tried to remember when and what she’d eaten last, only to come up blank. Grabbing her coat, she made her way to the Automat almost subconsciously.

“Oh hi, English!” greeted Angie enthusiastically upon her arrival. “Why don’t you sit over there while I get you some of that apple pie you love so much? You kinda look like you need it.”

“Thanks, Angie, that’s really sweet”, Peggy answered, grinning like an idiot. She was flattered that Angie noticed the little things about her. The empathic girl had known how Peggy felt with a single look at her face. Angie returned, placing a cup of tea and apple pie in front of her friend, and then took a seat opposite her.

“So, what’s up? You look sad”, Angie remarked, her eyes resting upon Peggy’s worriedly.

Peggy couldn’t bear to look her squarely in the eye while lying, so she focused on her pie and answered: “Oh, you know, just one of those days. Perhaps I’m just exhausted, I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I guess it might be the change of scenery.”

If Angie didn’t buy it, she didn’t let on, but nodded sympathetically. “We all have bad days, English. It’ll pass. For now, you need some cheering up. How do you feel about dancing?”

“Well, I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer these days”, Peggy mumbled, willing the memories of Steve to go away.

“That’s too bad, because tonight, we’re going out”, Angie stated matter-of-factly. When she noticed that Peggy was opening her mouth to protest, she gave her a stern look. “Look, I know you might not feel like it, but honestly, English, you never do anything fun – that I know of, at least. Let loose for one night! Put on a nice dress! It can make all the difference in the world!”

When she put it like that, it didn’t sound so bad. It was just a night out with a good friend, and even if it didn’t improve her mood per se, the chances of making it worse were close to zero. She would have to drag herself to the office the next morning, so unless she wanted to go to work hung over, she’d have to pay attention to how much she was drinking. She wasn’t a lightweight; during the war, she’d had no problem keeping up with the men, although that might have also been a question of being a smart drinker and pacing herself.

“Fine, Angie, but I have to be at the office early tomorrow, so we can’t be long. Besides, the Griffith’s curfew is ten”, she relented, but not without a stern look at Angie to make sure she understood.

“Great! I’ll meet you later, then!” exclaimed Angie. The cheerful girl walked over to her side of the booth and gave her a tight hug. “I need to get back to work, sorry.”

Peggy finished her tea and her pie in silence, sneaking glances at Angie hustling and bustling away all the while. The two of them virtually were like night and day, so it sure was curious that they got along so well nevertheless.

Once again, she found her thoughts circling Steve of their own accord, so she decided that keeping busy was the best policy for her, and, standing abruptly, left the diner with a “see you later” directed at Angie.

_Surely doing some work for Howard will take my mind off things._

She phoned Jarvis from the telephone booth that was just around the corner from the Automat, and he agreed to pick her up in fifteen minutes. This gave Peggy an unwelcome amount of time for pondering things she didn’t want to ponder, so she consciously thought about anything but Steve Rogers: Howard, Jarvis, Sousa, Dooley, and, also – yes, she would admit it – Agent Jack Thompson.

She wondered whether they’d simply go back to normal – him underestimating her and taking credit for other’s ideas – or whether he’d make an effort to include her, especially because she did save his life. Well aware that expecting too much of him might yet lead to disappointment, Peggy assumed he’d just go back to having her fetch his coffee, especially since she highly doubted that he would tell Chief Dooley that it was actually her who had found the lead.

As she finished that thought, she realized that Jarvis had pulled up to the curb and was evidently waiting for her to get in the car. She walked towards it hurriedly and got in; once seated, she greeted him with a sigh.

“Good morning! Everything all right, Miss Carter?” asked Jarvis, his voice as polite as ever, but with a slight tint of worry.

“Yes, well, coping with loss never gets easier. But there are more important matters at hand”, she started, but was interrupted by Howard’s butler immediately.

“I’m sorry for interrupting you – I’m aware of how terribly rude I am being – but there are a few new developments you haven’t been informed of that are of utmost importance. As I am sure you will be delighted to hear, Mr. Stark has returned to the United States despite the SSR’s recent attempts in capturing him. He feels it is better to clear his name incognito, if you may call it that. Of course, mentioning this would be disastrous for Mr. Stark, but I have complete faith in you, Miss Carter”, he explained. “Mr. Stark is residing in a rather run-down hotel for his own benefit, and I’m afraid he never gave me permission to mention the name, however, I can arrange a meeting, as I’m sure you’ve been eager to talk to Mr. Stark face to face.”

Peggy had to think quickly. Arresting Irwin Donne had been the first step to catching Howard, but was she prepared to follow through with the entirety of the plan? In theory, it had sounded easy: arrest Donne, gather evidence, find Howard. But now, she was feeling rather unsure about going through with it.

_I don’t have a choice now. Either I go through with it, or it’s my head that’s on the line for it._

“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis. I propose we meet in a discreet location – perhaps the abandoned weapons factory in Brooklyn at nine p.m.? I can’t easily make it any later because of my curfew, I’m afraid.”

Jarvis nodded: “I’m positive that can be arranged. We will be meeting you there, then?”

“I will be arranging my own transport, so as not to rouse unnecessary suspicions”, she blatantly lied, not feeling too guilty now that she’d made her mind up. “I shall see you later.”

She got out of the car, Jarvis adding a quick “see you at nine” before she slammed the door shut again. When she checked her wristwatch, she was relieved to see that it was almost a reasonable time to leave for the headquarters. She would still arrive a little early, but nothing too out of the ordinary. She hailed a cab, told the driver where to go and then proceeded to think about what the best plan regarding Howard would be.

A little more than fifteen minutes later, the exited the lift, politely greeting the other agents as she made her way to her desk.

 “Morning, Peggy”, responded Daniel, as friendly as ever. “I hear you made an arrest yesterday?”

“Morning, Marge, we sure did, didn’t we?” Jack Thompson took the liberty of answering in her stead. He gave her little chance to complain, though, as he simply kept talking: “Carter, you’re gonna love this: Donne admitted that he had ties to Stark, although he wouldn’t specify. But when I pressed him for more, started applying a little more pressure, you know, he suddenly started talking about a ‘her’, too. Seemed quite shocked to slip up, too, so whoever she is, she must be something. I propose we try interrogating him a second time, see if he rats her out if we turn up the heat a little. Either way”, he yawned. “I’m going home after the meeting. Been in since four in the morning.”

“Agent Thompson, do you mean to tell me you have interrogated our suspect without me?” Peggy asked, incredulously. She didn’t – not by a long shot – expect him to change overnight, but she had somehow hoped for him to at least include her in the interrogation, seeing as she had found the suspect in the first place. As turning back time would have proven fairly impossible even for Howard Stark, Peggy let it go, placating her inner Rumpelstiltskin with the promise of a square of chocolate if she managed to keep quiet.

For precisely that reason, Peggy had never been more grateful to see Roger Dooley’s face than in that instant.

“Agents, Carter: conference room, now.”

The other agents slowly trickled into the meeting room one by one, and Peggy busied herself with getting yet another cup of caffeinated beverage – only this time, it was coffee.

Chief Dooley started the meeting: “Alright, gentlemen”, Daniel audibly cleared his throat, “fine, _and lady_ , thanks to one of our best agents, we made an arrest yesterday that may yet help us catch Stark. Why don’t you fill us in, Thompson?” He motioned for him to stand next to the board.

“To some of you, the name Irwin Donne may seem familiar. Should it not ring a bell at all, I am sure our lovely Marge over there will gladly fill you in. She found a lead yesterday that enabled us to detain Donne. In questioning, he revealed that yes, he is indeed connected to Stark, but he also started talking about some woman. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to find out more than that – the dude seems legitimately intimidated by her. Come to think of it, maybe it’s his wife?”

There were a few snickers, and Peggy merely rolled her eyes.

“Now, that is the latest on the Stark case-“, he tried to summarize, but Peggy interrupted him.

“I beg to differ. I happen to know from a reliable source that Howard Stark is in New York City at the moment. In fact, I have arranged a meeting tonight at nine p.m. in the abandoned weapons factory in Brooklyn. He trusts me, so setting him a trap shouldn’t prove too difficult.”

Dooley seemed dumbfounded that somebody so infamous would trust Peggy, but he nodded in agreement.

“It’s worth a try either way. Even if we don’t catch him, we might gain some insight. I’m sending a couple of agents – Thompson, you pick yourself a team. I don’t really care whom you take, just make sure you work well together”, he commanded. “That would be all, agents.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Thank you for your continued support, comments and kudos - not only on this story, but my one-shots as well.


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